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Authors: Elizabeth; Mansfield

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BOOK: A Christmas Kiss
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“I'll say you have,” Jamie growled. “If ever I've met a worse gudgeon than you! To accost a girl living in your own home …! It really beats all!”

“I know. But having her so near, and not being able to get her to listen to me—”

“Pleathe! Let'th not hear any more about your thuffering. We've heard nothing elthe for dayth on end!” said the aggrieved Reggie.

“Right!” Jamie seconded. “It's Miss Pennington we're concerned about, not you. What will the poor girl do if your mother turns her off?”

“I don't know. She's been in service ever since her father died and left her penniless. I suppose she'll have to look for another post. If only she'd consent to marry me …”

Jamie and Reggie groaned simultaneously. “Will you stop talking fustian?” Jamie exclaimed impatiently. “Your mother would never permit it.”

“That doesn't matter. I'm of age.”

Jamie looked at him with scorn. “Huh! You couldn't oppose your mother if you was eighty.”

“And anyway,” added Reggie, “Mith Pennington don't want any part of you.”

“Just so,” Jamie agreed, “so let's hear no more on that score. I was wondering … how is she to get another post? Won't she need a letter from your mother? What they call a ‘character'? A letter of commendation or some such thing?”

“A letter of commendation? Oh, my lord!” groaned Geoff. “If I know my mother, she'll turn her off without so much as a kind word.”

“You don't mean it!” Reggie gasped, much shocked.

“Why would your mother turn her off without a recommendation? Miss Pennington didn't do anything at all reprehensible. It was you—”

“I know, I know. But mother thinks that Evalyn has been … has been …”

“Has been what?”

A flush suffused Geoff's bony cheeks. “Has been … er … setting her cap at me.”

“If that doesn't take the cake!” Jamie said with disgust. “As if a beautiful creature like Miss Pennington would chase a scrawny, squint-eyed fool like you!”

“Well,” Reggie put in reasonably, “you know what motherth are.”

“No, I don't, not having had one since I was a baby. But never mind that. What, tell me, is Miss Pennington to do if she is turned off without a good recommendation?”

Geoff dropped his aching head into his hands. “I'm dashed if I know,” he groaned.

Reggie got up and paced about helplessly. “Maybe one of uth could write a recommendation,” he ventured.

Jamie glared at him. “That would be just the thing for a woman who wanted a nice, respectable governess for her brats—a recommendation from a
bachelor
!”

“Oh, I thee what you mean. Thorry.”

Jamie sipped his brandy thoughtfully. “If only my Aunt Clarissa was here. She'd know what to—” His eyes lit up with sudden inspiration.

“What ith it, Jamie? Have you thought of thomething?” Reggie asked hopefully.

“Wait. Let me think. I may have a plan.” The others watched in respectful silence while Jamie sat immobile. Then he looked up. “How does this sound? I'll write to my Aunt Clarissa immediately, asking her and my father to invite Miss Pennington to spend Christmas with us. Then, as soon as the invitation arrives, I'll take Miss Pennington home to Gyllford with me. When Aunt Clarissa gets to know her, I'll warrant she'll take it on herself to get Miss Pennington suitably placed.”

“Oh, capital!” exclaimed Reggie, clapping Jamie on the back. “That would be the very thing! And athk your aunt to have Lord Gyllford invite me too, while you're about it.”

Geoff jumped up eagerly. “And me, too, Jamie. Perhaps if I were to see Evalyn outside my own home, she'd change her mind about me.”

Reggie and Jamie stared at Geoff in disbelief. “You!” Jamie said scornfully. “You, my boy, can whistle for it! You ain't going to be invited. We don't want you anywhere near that girl.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Geoff muttered querulously. “You want her for yourself!”

“Who, me?” asked Jamie in surprise. “Don't be a harebrain. You know I ain't in the petticoat line. Besides, she's much too clever a female for my taste.”

“Well, Reggie, then.”

In response to that accusation, Reggie simply snorted. His shyness in the presence of females was too notorious to need mentioning.

“If neither of you is interested in her, why are you going to this bother? Why should you be concerned about her?”

Reggie shrugged. “Can't help it. Can't abide theeing anyone in trouble.”

“It's only gentlemanly, after all,” Jamie explained reasonably. “It wouldn't be at all the thing merely to ignore the poor chit's distress. Especially when the trouble was caused by our own friend and host.”

“Very noble, I'm sure,” Geoff said with chagrin. “But I don't see why I can't come too.”

“Because she'd never agree to come if you made one of the party. Your crackbrained behavior has seen to that.”

“And anyway,” Reggie put in, “you'd do much better to stay here—at home with your Mama.”

Geoff gave Reggie a dagger look and returned sulkily to his chair. “Your aunt and your father might disappoint you,” he said with sour satisfaction. “They may not wish to invite a perfectly strange female to spend the holidays with them. Did you ever think of that?”

Reggie and Jamie exchanged glances. For once, Geoff had scored a home thrust. Inviting a female to his home was not a thing Jamie had ever done.

“What do you think, Jamie?” asked Reggie in concern.

“Don't worry about Father and Aunt Clarissa,” Jamie answered with an assurance he was far from feeling. “They'll come through. I know they will.”

Two

The Rutherford Ball was in full swing. The dance floor was crowded with elegantly dressed couples, the card rooms were filling with smoke, the buffet tables were thickly surrounded, and the staircases were thronged with latecomers pushing their way up and early leavers inching their way down. It was obvious already that the Rutherfords were hosting the greatest squeeze of the season.

Philip Everard, the fourth Earl of Gyllford, stood in the immense hallway with his sister, Lady Steele, and surveyed the crush with dismay. “What a mob!” he muttered. “You should have warned me, Clarissa.”

“If I had, you'd never have agreed to escort me,” she retorted, handing her wrap to a waiting footman. “Now, come along like a dear boy, and don't glower.”

“Might I not see you seated and take my leave? I'm sure Gervaise will be delighted to see you home,” Philip suggested tentatively.

“Of all the shabby—! And after you promised faithfully that
this once
you would see the evening through! I gave my word to Letitia Rutherford that you would be here, so let's hear no more about scuttling off.”

Philip grunted disconsolately. “I do not ‘scuttle,'” he said under his breath as he cleared a path for his sister up the stairway with absentminded efficiency. It would have been hard for a stranger to guess that this ill-matched pair had descended from the same parents. Lord Gyllford, tall and spare, his dark hair slightly greying, seemed nevertheless to be younger than his forty-four years. Those observers who knew him even slightly could sense that only his good breeding and his sense of appropriate behavior for men of middle age kept his youthful energy in check. His sister, Clarissa Steele, reached only as high as his shoulder, a plump and placid matron who, though several years his junior, seemed older than he.

They were both widowed. Lord Gyllford had lost his wife after only six years of contented wedlock. Even his sister was not fully aware of the depth of that wound. Something deep within him had walled itself off, and a determination was born in him, somewhere below the surface of his mind, to avoid the possibility of suffering that pain again. None of the many lures set out for him by eligible ladies and designing Mamas had caused the slightest diminution of his determination not to remarry. When, a few years later, Clarissa's kind and good-natured husband, Henry Steele, had succumbed to pneumonia, Philip had invited his sister to return to Gyllford, her childhood home, and run it for him. Happily for him and his son, the rapidly growing Jamie, Clarissa's cheerful warmth had made the absence of a wife and mother less painful, and the years had passed in adequate contentment, marred only by a nagging guilt at the back of Philip's mind that perhaps Clarissa had bypassed her opportunities for remarriage to make a home for him.

This sense of guilt caused him to leave his beloved Gyllford for a month each year to allow his sister to enjoy the excitement of London society. He himself found the entire stay a crushing bore. His active mind could find no satisfaction in the fripperies and pastimes of the London season. At Gyllford Manor he kept enormously busy with the management of his estate and with his writing, his secret vice and joy. He had two books on political theory of a somewhat radical nature published under a
nom de plume
and was proud that not one of his acquaintance had ever guessed he had authored them. He was now busily at work on a third book, and the necessity of escorting Clarissa to London was a most unfortunate interruption.

Well, I'm in for it tonight
, he thought,
and I may as well make the best of it. Perhaps Gervaise and some of his circle will gather in one of the card rooms for a little political discus
—

“Philip?” Clarissa's voice cut in. “I insist that you stand up with some of the young ladies for the country dances.”

Had the woman been reading his mind? Philip turned and frowned down at her with mock severity. “My dear Clarissa,” he said, “I love you dearly and am eternally at your service, but I draw the line at gallanting young ladies on the dance floor. At my age, I think I may be considered exempt.” And with that quelling statement, he guided his sister to the door of the ballroom and greeted his hosts with smiling composure. Lady Steele sighed, adjusted her turban, and did likewise.

On the other side of the room, Sally Trevelyan noted their entrance. So adept was she at social intercourse that none of the several young men surrounding her had any notion she'd been watching the door for the past half-hour. Miss Trevelyan had long since acquired the ability to seem to give her attention to several men at once while her mind wandered where it willed. She had been a reigning beauty for several seasons. Her spectacular loveliness, the sophistication and elegance of her manners, and her considerable fortune made her the toast of the polite world. Each season wagers were laid at White's on the likelihood of her succumbing to matrimony, but each season she remained unwed. Sought after as she was, Sally surprised everyone by resisting all suitors. But she loved to create surprises. She enjoyed being the center of attention. She enjoyed knowing her name was on everyone's lips. Why marry while she could attract hordes of admirers? Why marry while each season provided at least a dozen suitors for her hand? Sally flicked a green-eyed glance at the doorway where Philip Everard was being embraced by a simpering Lady Rutherford. Philip was the exception in Sally's mind, the one matrimonial prize she would have liked to win. But Philip had never asked her.

Sally turned to her entourage and dismissed them, saying lightly, “Ah, I see my friend, Mrs. Lanyon. Be off, will you? I wish to be private with her.” She crossed the room alone, enjoying the stir her appearance made. Her blond hair was curled in the spectacular new style,
à la grecque
, and her shimmering green gown clung closely to her limbs as she walked. She knew the ladies on the sidelines were watching and gossiping. They suspected that she damped her dresses to make them cling. Well, let them suspect, she thought, tossing her curls arrogantly. They would do it too, had they the figures for it.

She dropped down in a chair next to Mrs. Lanyon with a sigh of relief. Alvina Lanyon was a young matron known to be fast, but the friendship suited Sally well, though she knew that the association was doing no good for her reputation. Alvina had a cool, calculating mind, much like Sally's own, and their intimacy was satisfying to both of them. Alvina was the only woman with whom Sally could be herself.

Alvina looked at Sally knowingly, glanced up at her current
cicisbeo
who was bending over her, and dispatched him for a glass of champagne. “Did you see who just came in?” Sally asked without preamble.

Alvina nodded. “He's finally made an appearance. I saw him being embraced by our hostess,” she murmured lazily.

“But now he seems to have disappeared. I wonder where he's gone.”

“Into one of the card rooms, I should imagine.”

“Yes, to talk the evening away with his cronies, blast the man!” Sally said.

Alvina laughed. “I don't see why you bother about him. The man is past forty, and if you ask me, he's rather frightening. Though I'll admit he's devilishly handsome.”

“Don't be a fool. Philip has a brilliant mind, a great deal of address, a sharp wit when he bothers to show it, and a fortune that even I couldn't dissipate. There isn't a female in this room who'd refuse an offer from him.”

“I suppose you're right. But of what use is it to get yourself into a sulk? The Earl of Gyllford is obviously not interested in you—or in any romantic involvements. Forget him.”

“No,” Sally said, her lip curling in an unbecoming line of arrogance. “I don't intend to give up so easily.”

Alvina looked at Sally in surprise. “You've not lost your heart to him, have you?”

“I don't know,” Sally said thoughtfully. “I'm not at all sure what I feel.” She had often asked herself that question. She knew that he attracted her, that she'd set her cap for him and, to her chagrin, he had not responded. The more she had tried to attach him, the thicker had become the wall of cool reserve behind which he'd barricaded himself. Perhaps her feeling for Philip was merely the result of pique at her failure to attract him. But whatever the cause, she was determined to bring him to his knees, and she didn't care a jot if her feeling for him would outlast his capitulation. Her green eyes grew hard and feline as her mind jumped from scheme to scheme. “It would not be so difficult if I had some time alone with him,” she said.

BOOK: A Christmas Kiss
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